


Pink Floyd The Wall And Their Co-Producer

by NZFandomPrincess96



Category: Pink Floyd, Pink Floyd The Wall (1982)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NZFandomPrincess96/pseuds/NZFandomPrincess96
Summary: Rachel Turner loves Pink Floyd, and is lucky enough to live in between David and Roger. Her dad owns a Sound Mixing Studio not too far away, and his youngest employee is one of the cutest guys around. One day, Rachel and James meet, and only end up spending the rest of their lives together.





	1. Chapter 1

The Wall Disc 2- The Naming Of Track 6

It was a beautiful and quiet morning in July of 1978. Birds were chirping, and despite the fact that it was only eight o'clock, the sky was already a beautiful cheerful blue, with hardly any clouds. However, despite the peace, it simply couldn't last. Two guys in their thirties decided that it was a great time to have an argument.  
"DOCTOR!" Screamed Roger Waters.  
"No, I voted for "CHILDHOOD FEVER!" David Gilmour roared back.  
"DOCTOR!"  
"CHILDHOOD FEVER!"  
If you had come across such a scene of cacophony, what would you think was going on? Well, I'll tell you what was going on. Like I said earlier, it was 1979. Roger Waters and David Gilmour are both muscians in one the best classic rock bands ever: Pink Floyd. At that moment, they were in the process of writing a new album, simply entitled "The Wall."  
They had written two songs together: "Run Like Hell," and "Young Lust," but they were coming to blows about the name of their newest song, and simply couldn't agree on a name they both liked.  
Anyway, with them yelling back and forth, it wasn't long before they woke one of their neighbours: A twenty-five year old girl by the name of Rachel Turner, who, when she heard them yelling, just rolled her eyes (vibrant green), and mumbled, "I won't be getting more sleep, then."  
She stumbled out of bed, and despite the fact that she didn't start work for another hour and a half, she started getting ready for work. She worked for a company called "Record Revival," where, like the name suggested, she and her team took old records from the 30's and 40's, and through a fair amount of hard work and diligence, placed those old songs onto new records.  
After a hearty breakfast of a big fruit smoothie, Rachel decided to visit Roger and David, demanding to know what had them so riled up at eight in the morning. Even though it was now twenty-five past eight, they were still screaming at one another.  
Shaking her head, Rachel headed outside, locked up the place, and then stormed over to David's place. She wasted absolutely no time at all in getting to the point, and hammered on the door.  
From upstairs, David and Roger stopped immediately, and looked at one another in alarm.  
"Go get the door," Roger hissed at him. He wasn't really angry, but after all that yelling, his voice was hoarse, and he found that hissing wasn't so sore on his throat.  
David ran downstairs, his dirty blonde hair bouncing as he ran to get the door.  
He opened it with a flourish, and was met with a cold green gaze. Standing before him, with her hands on her hips, was their neighbour, Rachel Turner. Despite their eight year difference, Rachel could scare him off with her icy gaze.  
"Hello, Rachel," he said. "What brings you here?" He asked, rubbing his throat.  
She just scowled, and got right to the point. "What the fudge are you two arguing about at eight o'clock in the flipping morning?" Rachel wasn't fond of swearing, so she often spoke that way when she was angry and peeved.  
"A song title," he said sheepishly.  
She shook her head in disgust, and said, "Look, I still have half an hour before I go to work. Play the song for me, and I'll come up with something. I don't want to attend either of your funerals anytime soon."\  
"Very well," he said, and then smiled as she smiled at him, exasperated.  
"Come here," she said, and planted a kiss on his cheek.  
David grinned at her, and did the same. He then led her inside and upstairs. "You're looking as beautiful as ever, by the way, Rachel." He smiled.  
"Thanks," she said. "So, what names have you got?" she asked.  
"Roger wants to call it "Doctor," and I want to call it "Childhood Fever," he explained.  
"Interesting titles," She said, as they entered the room in which Roger was now engrossed in stroking the honey coloured fur of David's cat, Mr Bowie. Yes, David had named his cat after David Bowie, another musician that Rachel liked.  
"Hey, Roger," she said cheerfully.  
"Good Morning, Rachel," he said, standing up and brushing blonde fur off of his pants, before coming over and giving Rachel a hug.  
"Play this song for me, guys. I might have a few ideas in mind," she said, and sat down.  
"Okay, here we go," said Roger, lifting up his guitar, and strummed a few chords, before singing. It was an interesting song, Rachel thought to herself. The lyrics made her feel at ease.  
When David started singing the chorus, however, she became aware of an odd feeling in her right arm. She'd been resting on it, and now had pins and needles. This feeling soon gave way to a numb sensation, but by the end of the song, she had the perfect title.  
"Very good, guys. I like the two titles you came up with, and I have another that you may wish to try."  
"What is it?" They asked in unison.  
"Comfortably Numb?" She suggested. The two looked at her thoughtfully, and then nodded happily.  
"Excellent." Said Roger.


	2. More Friends

The boys were extremely grateful to Rachel for assisting them with the name of their last song. It was a very good song, and Rachel loved most of the things they had done. Her overall favourite one was one of Syd Barrett's compositions with the simple title of "Emily." She smiled as she thought about it, and then sighed.

"Something wrong, love?" Asked David.

"Just thought about Syd," she said truthfully, and they all looked down, just as the doorbell rang.

As David went to get it, Roger smiled at Rachel, before writing something on a piece of paper in front of him with a red pen. "Our album is finally finished, although rather long," he said happily. "It should only be two records long, but there's enough for three here."

"Have you found a producer yet?" Rachel asked, just as David, Nick, and Rick came in.

"Yeah, Bob Ezrin, and we've got a co-producer, as well. Can't remember his name, though. John Guthers, or something." He said, and Rachel snorted with laughter.

"""John Guthers?"" She gasped out, having found something quite amusing about that, and lay on the floor, giggling.

The four boys watched her, very amused. Finally, Rachel composed herself, and got back on her feet. One hand cupped her jaw, the other around her stomach. Both were hurting from the aching sensation of full-on laughter.

"Hello, Nick. Hello, Rick. I just came by to stop your bassist and guitarist from killing each other, and gave them a new name for their song. Anywho, I need to get to work. Mr. Thompson is a nice enough man, but an employee turning up late is never a good idea." She said, still cupping her jaw.

They waved her off, Roger inviting her to the concert they were doing that night: Fun With Floyd.

"I'll certainly consider it," she said, and happily walked away whistling "Consider Yourself' from Oliver! The Musical. The boys watched her leave, smiling. They absolutely adored Rachel, she was like the younger sister none of them had had.

""John Guthers?" Really, Roger?" Chuckled David.

"Shut up," said Roger, although a little smile had fallen across his face as he remembered Rachel's reaction. Just then, the telephone rang, and Roger answered it.

"Ello?" He said.

"Good morning, Roger. You and the boys have a meeting with James this afternoon. Didn't you say you were almost finished?" It was Steve O'Rourke, the manager of Pink Floyd.

"Who?" Asked Roger.

"Your new co-producer?" Said Steve. 

"Oh! So that's what his name is. I thought it was 'John.'"

"Hahahaha, no. It's James. He looks like a James, but not John."

"Alright, Steve. Thanks for the memo." He said. "Catch you later."

He hung up the phone, and laughed. "I thought his name was "John" not "James.""

"If I'd realised who you were talking about, I'd have corrected you. His name is James K.A. Guthrie. A most promising record producer in Alan Parson's opinion, and works at Utopia Studios." Nick said.

"Utopia Studios? But that's where Mr. Turner works, Rachel's father." Said Rick.

"Yep," said Roger. \+ 


	3. My Day

**AN: In the first chapter, I have changed Rachel's age by one additional year. It made more sense to me to do so. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

 

Rachel was greeted by warm calls of "Hello," and "Good Morning" when she reached work some five minutes before starting time. Some of her colleagues greeted her with hugs, and whenever they did so, the silver, heart-shaped locket that she wore hidden around her neck would press against her chest. Every time that happened, Rachel felt the pang of mental pain, wishing that things could have been different. Not everyone knew about her biggest secret, and those that did knew that it wasn't their place to tell others.

Rachel smiled at her colleagues. She worked with a team of five others: There was Stephanie, who hunted down old records, there was Mandy, who hunted down old covers for said records, there were Alice and Lily, who were in charge of somehow transferring the information onto new, playable records, there was Lauren, who put the new records in the shop, and there was Rachel herself, in charge of selling the new records.

Lauren hadn't been feeling all that well for the past few weeks, so Rachel was surprised when she walked in, beaming, and looking healthy again. Behind her came a little blonde-haired, blue girl eyed of nearly seven, who went by the name of Sophia Thompson. In the girl's left hand was a drawing, and her right hand was firmly clasped in the hand of her mother, Hannah.

"Hi, Rachel!" Squealed the little girl, and Rachel smiled at her. Sophia was her goddaughter, but not in the ordinary sense of the word. When Sophia was born, Hannah soon discovered, that because of her undergoing cancer therapy at the time, she couldn't breastfeed. Hannah, of course, had tried formula, but it didn't help at all. Sophia was a very cranky baby for the first month of her life.

Rachel, who'd been away for a year, had been walking around one chilly night, when the cries of a baby had alerted her. She'd been crying herself, because she'd just lost her own baby. When she came upon them, one thing led to another, and Rachel had found herself holding the girl in her arms. Then, to the surprise of both Rachel and Sophia's parents, the baby had suddenly latched on to Rachel's boob and had suckled greedily.

But it turned out to be a good thing. Sophia suddenly became a very happy baby, and her grateful parents had offered Rachel a job as cleaner of Record Revival. Then, in 1973, Rachel had been in charge of selling records for about a week, when, on the tenth of October, David Gilmour had walked, looking for "A Hard Day's Night" by the Beatles. They got talking, and Rachel soon met Roger, Nick, and Rick.

"Hello, Sophia," she said, cuddling the little girl. She was wearing a green dress, and white flats.

"I drew you a picture," said Sophia, and held it out. It was a picture of a young man wearing a brightly-coloured coat.

"Ah. Joseph. What a lovely picture, darling." Rachel said, before Hannah handed over a container. "I made your favourite muffins." She said with a smile.

"Double chocolate-chip. Thank you very much!" She said. "I'll share them in our break. For now, I think we're about to open up."

"Can I buy a record?" asked Sophia. "Please, mummy?"

"Of course you can," Hannah smiled, and Sophia soon became the owner of "The Very Best Of Danny Kaye."

When they had left, Rachel turned to Lauren. "So, nice to have you back. You feeling better?" She asked.

"Much better, though I may have to take time off work soon. Mr. Thompson won't mind," she grinned.

"Why?" Rachel queried.

"I'm having a baby!" Lauren crowed with delight.

At those joyous words, Rachel blinked. The memory of high, cold, laughter filled her ears, and she struggled to snap out of it.

Just at that moment, Mr. Thompson, their boss, walked in and saw Rachel in the middle of an internal panic attack. He rushed over to her, and said quietly so only she could hear, "It's alright. You're not there anymore."

Rachel started crying in his arms. "He killed her. He killed my baby," she cried, tears filling her eyes, and a sharp pain filling her stomach. **  
**

"Ouch!" she yelled, rubbing where the pain had flared. It felt like someone had taken a knife and stabbed her with it. Soon, however, the pain receded, leaving Rachel to wonder what it was.

"You alright?"

"Yes, Sir. My stomach hurt for a moment, but it's feeling better now. Could you make an announcement to the others to not talk about motherhood in front of me? I can stand being around Sophia, but even around her, I sometimes get a flashback."

"Of course I can," he said, and did so. 

The rest of that day passed by in a friendly and professional manner. They sold records, made new records, had two eating breaks in the day, and before long, it was time to close up shop for the night.

Also, Rachel's stomach had been hurting on and off all day, but she said nothing about, until about ten to five, when she asked that someone turn on the heater.

"Oh, can someone turn the heater on? It's extremely cold," she said, shivering a little.

The others stared at her in concern. "Rachel, it's 29 degrees," said Mandy.

"More like 5 degrees, you mean. It's really cold," she said.

"Hmm," Mr. Thompson had overheard this, and placed a hand on her forehead. "No wonder you're cold. You've got a fever. I suggest you go and see a doctor, they'll be able to tell what's wrong," he said kindly.

"Alright," she agreed, and bade everyone goodbye. They called out wishes of good health, and she left. The nearest surgery was only a ten minute walk away, past Utopia Studios, a through an alleyway. She passed by Utopia Studios where her father worked, and entered the alleyway, where, quite suddenly, the sharpest pang she'd felt all day appeared, and she sent forth everything in her stomach which now felt like it was burning. Not even giving birth was this painful. This was pain unlike anything she'd ever felt.

Her fever was spiking higher, and halfway through throwing up, she suddenly blacked out.

 

 **AN: Hope you like this one too. Our favourite co-producer is coming along very soon.**  

 


	4. Welcome To Britannia Row

**AN: Hello :) Now, before I begin, there are a few things I'd like to mention: First of all, "The Wall" was produced from 1978 to 1979, but it was produced in the December-November period of that year, as opposed to July-June as I put down. Hope no one minds this slight change. Secondly, some characters are mine, most are real people. Thirdly, I'm not sure how common diabetes was in the late '70's, and Rachel's name comes from the fact that James' girlfriend at the time was called Rachel. He introduced her to Pink Floyd, and she performed with them some years later. Finally, enjoy the chapter :)**

**NZFandomPrincess96**   
  


"Well, boys, welcome to Britannia Row," Michael Turner greeted them warmly. The Pink Floyd Boys smiled at him, and they were shown in. Michael had co-ownership of Britannia Row, which the band themselves had founded a couple of years ago. He had black hair, and green eyes, much like his daughter.

"Are you looking forward to recording your new album?" He asked as he opened the door to the Recording Studio.

"Very much so," said Roger, and David nodded in agreement."Good. So, you've decided to call it "The Wall." Do tell me the story of the album," he said, glancing at his watch, and frowned.

"Hmm, James and Lawrence are late," he muttered. "That's not like them at all."

Roger proceeded to tell Michael the story of "The Wall," and as he was doing so, the small urge to use the bathroom was gradually getting stronger, until finally, Michael noticed the look of discomfort on Roger's face, and said, "You've forgotten where it is, haven't you?

"Roger gave him a pained look.

"Down the hall, make a right, then it's the first door on your left."

"Thank you!" Roger almost yelled in relief, and all but ran to the bathroom.

As soon as he'd gone, however, the connecting door to the Recording Studio flew open, and two men in their mid-twenties came in. One of the two, a ginger-haired man who was wearing a "Dark Side of the Moon" t-shirt, black shorts, and sneakers, was slumped against his companion, his fringe plastered to his forehead which was pale and glistening with sweat. His companion, a brunette-haired man, who was wearing a t-shirt that "Das Boot" above a submarine, white pants, and sneakers, was holding him up, with a look of barely contained rage in his eyes.

Michael Turner raised an eyebrow at them. "Nice to see you back finally," he said, not fully taking in their faces. When he did so, he then said, "I'm so sorry, that was extremely rude of me. What in the wide world happened to you, Lawrence, and James, why do you look so wild?"

"Oh, just some silly idiots at lunch tried to kill Lawrence, that's all," said James in a very cold tone.

"What!? How?" Michael exclaimed.

"Needed to give myself a shot, Sir. But some fools at the table next to ours took the entire case from me. I mean, in a world where irresponsible people use the wrong sort of drugs every single day, I'm not allowed to give myself something safe?" Lawrence choked out.

"Sit down, Lawrence. I assume you're talking about an insulin shot?" Michael asked.

"Yes, Sir. It got so bad I went into Ketoacidosis. If not for James, I probably wouldn't be here. He dragged me to hospital, where they gave me a shot and a new case. Then they sent us off, telling me to come back if I had a relapse."

The others had been listening to this with some interest, and David asked, "So, what does insulin do?"

"It breaks down sugar in your body, and your pancreas makes it naturally. Sometimes, some pancreas's don't, and so people have to take insulin shots. If we didn't, we'd die. It's a condition called Diabetes."

"I see. Wait, your name is James, right?" David asked, addressing James.

He nodded.

"Well, nice to meet you. I think you're working with us on our newest album. I'm David, this is Nick, Richard, and Bob. Not to mention, our manager Steve." he introduced.

James blinked, before a grin slowly appeared on his face."Oh, my goodness. David Gilmour?" He asked in delight.

"Absolutely." David said in acknowledgement. James smiled again broadly, before he remembered someone called "Bob." He turned to said Bob, and asked, "Bob, what is it you do for the band?"

"I produce albums. I'm not entirely sure why we've met with you." He said, his brows furrowed.

"Funny, I thought they wanted me to produce this newest album," and they both turned to David, confused.

"We have two producers, neither of you mind, do you?" He asked, and despite feeling slightly frustrated about not having been informed of the other's contribution, they got on well enough.

Just then, Roger walked back in, having taken a wrong turn earlier, and then stopped. In front of him, with their back facing away from him, was a woman.

"How strange, Michael. I didn't know you employed women at the current moment." He said, and everyone else looked at each other, slightly bewildered.

"I'm not currently employing women, Roger. What are you talking about?"

"The young woman in front of me, with shoulder-length curly hair, with the black t-shirt and black pants." He explained, and everyone's eyes widened when they realised he was talking about James.

 _Do_   _I_    _really_   _look_   _feminine_   _from_   _the_   _back_? James asked himself, amid some sniggering from the others.

"Oh, shut up," he said in a falsetto, before he turned to Roger, chuckling in bemusement. "Do I really look feminine from the back, Mr. Waters?"

"A little. I rather like your shirt." Roger smiled."Thanks. I'm a massive fan of World War 2 submarines," he explained."I see, and please call me Roger," he said, and they began their work.

A Few Hours Later....................

"There is a slight problem with this," mused James looking over the demo of The Wall that Roger had given him to work with.

"And what might that be?" Roger asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"There's enough material on here for three albums, Roger. I was under the impression that we were making a two album piece."

"We are. Don't worry; one of my biggest strengths is deleting things that may sound great, but aren't appropriate to the story I'm trying to tell," Roger smiled, and James smiled back.

"Well, I look forward to working on it, and working with you," the younger of the two said, brushing away loose strands of hair that had gotten in his way.

"Fancy a hot drink?"

"Coffee, please, if you're offering," Roger said gratefully, and James walked out, grinning from ear to ear.

**So much later that the old narrator got tired of waiting and they had to hire a new one ;)**

A few hours later, with their recording schedule sorted out for the next year, so that The Wall could be released the following July, The Pink Floyd had left, and the engineers of Britannia Row were tidying up for the weekend, ready to carry on on Monday.

It was about quarter to five, and Lawrence had already left, not feeling all that great after the incident at lunch.

"I hope you feel better soon," his boss had said kindly, before telling him to get some rest. Andy was just about to leave as well, with James' permission.

( **Andy**   **Jackson**   **was**   **trained**   **by**   **James**   **to**   **be**   **an**   **engineer** )

"See you on Monday, Mr. Turner, James," said Andy, waving goodbye.

"Bye, Andy," they called back.

Once Andy had left, James turned, and said, "Well, Mr. Turner, I guess I'll-" his voice trailed off, catching Michael's attention.

"Something wrong?" He asked.

"Hmm? Oh no, not at all. I was momentarily distracted by the photograph on your desk," said James, pointing at said photograph. Michael smiled when he saw it.

"Ah, that is my daughter, Rachel," he explained."She's quite pretty," James smiled.

"Yes, she certainly is. I have another daughter, Lucy, and a granddaughter Lillian, who unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet," he said sadly.

"I'm sorry," James said earnestly. "As am I. I'll see you on Monday, and well done on your being co-producer for "The Wall.""

James smiled, thanked him, and strode away. A warm summer breeze greeted him as he left Britannia Row; for an evening in July, it was most pleasant. Birds chirped an early evening song, and he hummed absentmindedly to himself as he walked the way home. Now, about halfway between James' home and Britannia Row, was an alleyway that came out near a hospital. For the story, this is most important, for as James was coming up to the alleyway, the first thing he noticed was the unmistakable smell of vomit.

"Yuck," he said to himself, before looking further down the alleyway, and noticed a figure lying down. His earlier disgust forgotten, he ran towards the prone figure."Excuse me? Are you alright?" He called as he got close enough, but received no answer. It took him about a moment or two to realise that the figure was a female, her eyes were closed, her face was flushed, and one side of her face was lying in a puddle of sick.

James' immediate concern was that she might have died of asphyxiation, but when he gently turned her face towards him, he was relieved to see that her face, although pale, wasn't blue in any way. He was then concerned about why she was lying in an alleyway, and why her face was so flushed. As he contemplated this, a voice in the back of his mind told him to lift her shirt, which he did. 

As soon as he had, he realised immediately what was probably the most common reason for her to be like this: she was going through a very nasty bout of either a stomach bug or appendicitis. "You're going to be okay," he said softly, and lifting her into his arms, he carried her through the alleyway, and for the second time that day, he was grateful that there was a hospital within walking distance of where he was.Once they had reached the hospital's entrance, and had gone in, several doctors swarmed them, one yelling for a gurney.

"Do you know who she is?" Another one asked him, and he was about to shake his head, when he took in her features properly, and stared. It was the daughter of his boss.

"Yes, her name is Rachel Turner," he explained, just as she was wheeled away.

Some hours later, James, who had stayed on the insistence of the nurses, had fallen asleep, until he was lightly shaken awake by a happy-looking surgeon."You came in with Rachel Turner, didn't you?" He asked.

When James nodded, the surgeon's smile grew. "Well, I don't need to tell you that you saved her life. She had appendicitis, and her appendix was about half an hour away from rupturing. She'll be fine, thanks to you, and myself, I suppose," he added with another smile.

James smiled in relief. "Can I go? Her family should probably know as well."

The surgeon looked a little surprised."Do you actually know her?" He asked.

"No, but I work for her father."

"Well, probably a good idea to let them know. They'll want to see her as well."

The next morning, Michael and his wife, Vivienne, had been visiting their still unconscious daughter, and had extended an invitation to James to come and see her if he so wished. He did wish to see her that morning, and they smiled as he walked in.Vivienne stood up and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for saving my daughter," she said softly, and James smiled into her shoulder.

"No problem, and it wasn't just me," he pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but you did-" she was cut off by the sound of a high-pitched scream of "Help me!"All three of them jumped, and turned quickly to see Rachel, still with her eyes closed, screaming in terror...................

**AN: How's that for a cliffie? :)**

 


	5. Rachel's Nightmare

**AN: A warning for this chapter. There are references to racism and rape. Do not read if this causes any distress to you.**

 

She lay unconscious in the dark, feeling quite cool. The coolness of the night was a great relief after the raging fire that had tried to burn her alive. A light wind ruffled her curly brown hair, and it was wonderful. Rachel Turner opened her vibrant green eyes, and looked around at her surroundings.  
She was dozing on a park bench, and the sky was a ball of colour, as the sun was setting. Movement caught her eye, and she turned her head slightly, just enough to see a girl with curly brown hair and vibrant green eyes, around her age.  
"Lucy?" she croaked out. Lucy was her identical twin sister, currently working as a hairdresser in Paris. Rachel knew she was dreaming, as  _she_  had been lying in an alleyway near Britannia Row and Lucy didn't often come up to England.   
"Hey, Rachel," she said pleasantly. "It's about time you woke up. We have a rally to get to."  
"A rally?" Rachel was mystified. Never before in any of her other dreams had they attended a rally.  
"Yeah," Lucy said, and showed Rachel her outfit. She was wearing all black: A black shirt, a black skirt, black boots, and over top of this get-up was a long black leather jacket that reached her ankles. On her upper right arm was a band. It was red at the top and white at the bottom, and in the middle were two crossed hammers. It looked vaguely familiar , but Rachel couldn't work out how it was familiar.  
"Are you supporting some kind of group?" Rachel asked, and Lucy nodded.  
"Sure am, but don't tell Mum and Dad about it," Lucy warned, her voice was now cold and unfriendly.  
 _Well, must be a group that our parents don't approve of_ , Rachel thought, and as her sister, older by a full fifteen minutes dragged her along, she tried to contemplate which group it was.  
As they walked through town, they joined up with others that Rachel and her sister knew. Friends, neighbors, fellow work colleagues, and even, in her dream, a boy with curly blonde hair and blue eyes who introduced himself as Ralf to Lucy, and then as "Rachel's boyfriend."  
Rachel looked at Ralf, and asked, "What kind of rally are we going to?"  
Her "boyfriend" stared at her, incredulously.  
"Sorry, I haven't told her yet," Lucy said, smirking at her, as she led the way into a big auditorium, where they were stopped by security guards, who wanted to why Rachel wasn't wearing any of their memorabilia.  
"She's new," she said, and the security members gave Rachel cold, malicious smiles, which scared her a bit.  
Then, Lucy whispered something into Ralf's ear, and when he shook his head, it was her turn to stare.  
"Please tell you're joking, Ralf. When I came here, I had done it with my boyfriend, and that kept me safe. Rachel's twenty-five, and you know what they'll do to her and any other girl like her." She whispered something else in his ear, which made him turn pale.  
"No, they can't. Just because..." and he broke off, horrified and sickened.  
"I'm so sorry, but they will," said Lucy, tears falling down her cheeks, just as Rachel appeared, looking somewhat disgusted.  
"Do you know what I was asked?" she demanded as she came up to them.  
"I cannot imagine," said Ralf.  
"They asked me if I'd "done it" before," she spat, making quotation marks with her fingers. "I said "No," of course. Where are we?"  
As it turned out, Lucy had dragged her to a Neo-Nazi like Fascist Rally. They were interested in wiping out people who were "queer," "Nigerian," "People who didn't look right to them at all," and "Interracial couples."  
Rachel was horrified, and badly wanted to go home. With everyone else distracted, she thought, it would be easy. Five other girls who hadn't "done it," and hated the ideals of this Neo-Nazi like Fascist group, and had been brought there against their will, followed her out.  
They ran down corridors, intent on getting these horrible men and women arrested for what they had planned, but it never happened. Just after they had left, the leaders came running after them, malicious and horrible thoughts in mind.  
"Run faster! They're coming," cried a girl of about fourteen. Her name was Emily Blackhurst, and she had wavy blonde hair and blue eyes.  
So they did, and turned a corner, where they were instantly caught.  
"Let go of me!" Rachel screamed. She was held fast by the man who oversaw the whole outfit, who simply leered at her, and replied, "Feisty. I like that. You and I are going to have so much fun over the next few months."  
Rachel's skin began to crawl, and she was beginning to get quite scared. These men would, and could, harass her in a sexual manner.  
"HELP ME! Please, someone! Help me!" She cried out, and began to scream and kick, but to no avail. The Neo-Nazi like Fascists simply dragged all six screaming girls to a van, and drove them away to some unknown location, where they wouldn't come out for some time. When they did, society would scorn them cruelly and label them scornfully.  
  


**PAGE BREAK**

When the van arrived, the six girls were dragged into a brightly-lit building, which made them all blink. There was a receptionists area, and two women sneered at them as they were pulled in.  
"Fresh meat, eh Hansel?" Asked one woman, and the main leader, who was still holding Rachel, nodded.  
"Sure thing, liebchen," he smiled. "You don't mind, do you?"  
"Nein, I don't mind," She said, just as two more fascists appeared, dragging a young woman about Rachel's age to the door. When Rachel got a good look at her, she saw that the woman had a very large bump in her stomach, which could only be one thing: a growing baby. And by the look of things, she was ready to give birth .  
Her fears from earlier were being realised, and she collapsed. When she came to, she found herself in a private room, naked and lying with her hands tied underneath her back, and a layer of rope under her chest holding her down to the bed that she was lying on. Looking up, she met the cruel blue gaze of the leader, Hansel.  
"Ah, you're awake," he said, and, after pushing her legs up and then forcing them open, extended a hand out towards her private area.  
Rachel screamed and tried to move, even as she felt him touching her, laughing with malicious glee.  
"Help me! I'm getting raped!" She cried out, and suddenly she heard a crash by her feet. When she looked, she saw that Hansel had frozen like a statue. She stared around in disbelief, and then something happened that she didn't expect.  
"Hello?" came a light, gentle voice.  
"Who said that?" Rachel asked, looking around.  _Surely_ , she thought,  _it couldn't have been Hansel. That voice sounded like a Londoner._  
"I'll tell you later," said the voice. She could hear him very clearly, and it made her feel safe.  
"Can you tell me where you are?" he asked.  
"I'm in a private room, getting raped by a Neo-Nazi like Fascist, and I'm frightened out of my wits," Rachel said.   
"I can see that. What's your name?"  
"Rachel Erica Turner," she responded.  
"Well, Rachel, I'm going to get you out of there."  
"How? Are you God?" she asked, and heard him laugh.  
"What makes you ask that?"  
"Well, I can hear you, but I can't see you," she explained.  
"No, I'm not God. Now, get out of that room," he said.  
"But I'm tied down to a bed," she pointed out, then added, "with tightly-tied rope."  
"Imagine it fraying, then" he said patiently. Rachel thought he was mad for suggesting it, but did so anyway. To her astonishment, the rope did indeed fray, including the one holding her wrists together. In delight, she leapt up, and as an added afterthought, punched Hansel in the jaw.  
"Take that, you bastard," she spat, swearing for the first time, and ran to the door of the room. Once again, she used her imagination to conjure up a key to unlock the heavy door, and a powerful torch in order to see what she was doing.  
"Are you still there, my disembodied friend?" She asked.  
"I certainly am," he replied. "I'm not going to leave you."  
"How nice," She smiled.  
"Quite, now are you out of that room?"  
"Yes, I am," she said.  
"That's good. Now, imagine a hallway with white linoleum, and on either side of you are several doors, each one white and with a number. You want to go in the one that says 406, understand?"

"Sure," she said, looking at the one she'd just left, which read 386. She began her descent down the corridor, but as she reached halfway, someone grabbed her wrist. She spun around to see a very not amused Hansel, with blood dripping from his nose.

"Shit!" she cried out, as he held her naked body against the wall. In the excitement of getting out, she had forgotten to get dressed.  
"What's wrong?"  
"I've been caught by the Fascists leader. Please, help me."  
"Kick him where it would really hurt, and then run," he told her.  
Rachel lifted her leg just as Hansel's lips crashed on her's and kicked him hard. An inhumane scream came from his lips, and Rachel wasted no time at all. Soon, she had reached room 406, and ran in, locking the door behind her.  
The room she'd run into was a hospital room.  Like many others, there were a few beds, a bench, and rows of medicine bottles and equipment. It was painted a cheerful shade of aubergine, which happened to be her favorite colour.  
"I'm in room 406," she said.  
"That's great. Now, see the bed in the middle?"  
"Yes, I do."  
"Good. I want you to lie down on top of it, turn to your right, and put your hand out."  
A little confused, Rachel did as she was told. Seconds later, she felt a hand in hers.  
"Feel my hand in yours?" he asked, and she grew excited. Was she going to meet the owner of the kind voice who had helped her through something so horrible?  
She looked to her right, but couldn't see anyone. "Yes, I can feel it."  
"Wonderful. Now, give it a squeeze, and at the same time, open your eyes, Rachel," he said, and she did so.  
Her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring into a pair of kind, vibrant green eyes. Blinking, she realised she was looking at her father.

"Dad?" She asked, and he hugged her. Her mother, Vivienne, hugged her as well.

"But where's the lovely guy who...?" Her voice trailed off as she looked to one side, and saw a rather stunning young man smiling at her. He was dressed in a white shirt and tan pants, his shoulder-length hair bounced on his shoulders, his brown gaze was mesmerising, and his lips were quirked into a warm smile.

"Hello, Rachel," he said.

"Hello, you gorgeous man. What is your name?"

James smiled, and introduced himself as "James Guthrie."

"He saved your life." Her mother smiled.

"Well, I already like you, then," Rachel grinned, and James chuckled. 

**AN: So this chapter is based off of the "Nazi Rally " Scene from The Wall, and an extended version of one of the Fascists raping that other girl .**

 


End file.
